The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior (12 page)

“I'm certain I have, I am not certain if I plan to attend.”

At his reply, Smithfield leaned in closer. “If you were to attend, and show yourself to Society, you would go a long way to dispersing all the talk about Miss Rose. Apparently, upon inheriting the title you have kept yourself to yourself far too much for the people who speak of such things.”

And before then he hadn't mattered.

Smithfield's tone was dry, but his meaning was clear to Marcus: If he wished proper society to respect him, and not to natter on about who he had living in his home, he would have to present himself as a proper duke, one who might even get married to a proper lady; not a feckless duke who spent more time with his cats than proper company.

Or his daughter's governess.

In pursuing a lady's hand, a duke must keep in mind that although ladies' freedoms are much enhanced from previous centuries, a young lady will still be restricted by her parents' wishes. It is imperative, therefore, for the duke to ascertain that the lady is disposed toward him before disposing of her freedom by marrying her
.

—T
HE
D
UKE
'
S
G
UIDE
TO
C
ORRECT
B
EHAVIOR

L
ily sat with the other ladies in the ladies' drawing room, which was the correct name for the Execrable Pink Room, counting the minutes until she could excuse herself and get Rose to bed.

Rose herself would likely argue about that, but it was obvious the little girl was exhausted, her eyes drooping as she munched on shortbread cookies.

“Miss Lily, my two children are just a bit older than Miss Rose. Perhaps you would like to bring her over for a visit sometime? I am certain my Sarah would love to show Miss Rose her dolls.” Mrs. Porter did seem like a nice woman, and she had definitely enjoyed Mr. Smithfield's company.

Rose perked up at that and reached out to tug Lily's hand.

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Miss Blake said, her blond curls bobbing as she nodded her head. “There is nothing I love to see more than children playing. Unless,” she said, tilting her head in apparent thought, “it is dancing and going to parties and eating ices. I love all of those things.”

Wonderful, Lily thought, restraining herself from letting her lip curl. Was this the type of young lady from whom the duke would have to choose a wife?

Because if so, she was very glad she was not a duke herself, no matter what benefits might come with the position. Imagine having to endure this kind of meaningless conversation with the person you'd decided would be your partner for life?

“I thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Porter. I will inquire of the duke whether we might visit in a day or two.”

“Splendid! And if you were to persuade the duke to accompany you, I know Miss Blake would be pleased to show him around the house while you and Rose visit.”

Had she thought Mrs. Porter nice? Maybe someone thought Machiavelli was nice also.

“I will ask the duke,” Lily said in a quiet tone. Who was she to deny the work of a master strategist? Plus the expression on Rose's face conveyed her eagerness to accept the offer.

After only a few more minutes the gentlemen rejoined them, and finally it was time for the guests to depart. Miss Blake couldn't decide if she thought the foyer or the staircase was more impressive, and it took all of Lily's willpower not to make the decision for her.

It was definitely the staircase.

Or the foyer.

Oh Lord, now she was doing it. Thank goodness they were all just about out the door. She was exhausted from the evening, having kept herself
from speaking her mind or looking too many times at the duke. Not to mention talking with Mr. Smithfield, who'd spoken to her about governessing as though she was supposed to know what was to be done.

Finally the door shut behind them all. “Up to bed, Miss Rose,” Lily said. Predictably, Rose protested, until the duke told her she had to get to bed so she'd have enough energy to go walking in the park with him the next day.

Lily shot a grateful glance at him, and he smiled in return, making her weariness disappear, to be replaced with—wanting.

“Miss Lily, join me in my study after Miss Rose has been put to bed.”

Again? At this rate she would begin marking a trail in the carpet between where she was and his study. Where he was. “Certainly, Your Grace,” she said, taking Rose by the hand as they began to ascend the staircase to the second floor.

“Tomorrow the duke said he'd take me out for a walk,” Rose enthused as Lily was getting her dressed in her nightgown.

“He said he would take you for a walk tomorrow,” Lily corrected.

Rose frowned. “I know that, I just said it.”

Lily smoothed the curls off Rose's forehead and turned the sheets down so Rose could get into bed.

“Can we go see that lady's girl?” Rose asked sleepily. “I haven't played with someone in a long time. Not since before Mama got sick.”

Lily's throat tightened. “Of course we can.” She thought of Rose having to deal with a
parent's death at such a young age—she had been eighteen when her father died, which was hard enough. Especially once it became clear that his fortune had died long before he had.

“Let me tell you a story to help you get to sleep,” Lily said, smoothing the covers. She perched on the side of the bed and began a story of a young girl who was lost, then rescued by a prince with an exceedingly large nose.

It was not self-referential, she had to keep reminding herself.

Finally Rose was asleep and Lily slipped downstairs, her traitorous heart beating furiously.

The duke wasn't seated this time, but he was still accompanied by Orange, whom he held in the crook of his arm as he stood in front of one of the bookshelves. Orange looked as pleased as a cat could look, and it wasn't hard to see why—the duke was stroking his fur with those long, elegant fingers, and again it appeared that he had been speaking to the cat. Something about “soft fur” and “petting,” plus he looked abashed when he saw her.

Orange seemed to know it was time to depart, since he leapt from the duke's arms and trotted off somewhere, no doubt to torment Stripey, as he was fond of doing.

The duke nodded at Lily and gestured toward the seat she'd previously sat in. “Would you care for tea?” he asked, walking to the beverage cart that had held brandy the evening before. He had removed his dinner jacket and cravat and was clad only in his shirt and trousers.

Tea? Interesting.
I care for many things
, she wanted to say,
including the removal of your clothing
, but instead settled for merely replying, “Yes, thank you, Your Grace.” At his questioning look, she added, “Milk and sugar, please.”

He handed her the cup and their fingers touched, sending sparks of feeling through Lily's body. If she reacted this way to just the touch of his fingers—goodness. What else might she feel?

“Charms to strike the spirit, and merit to win the heart,” he said, sitting down a few feet away and raising his cup.

She clinked her cup against his.

“Did Rose enjoy herself?” he asked. “She certainly looked excited.”

“I believe she did, Your Grace. Mrs. Porter asked if I might bring Rose for a visit. It seems she has two children of her own, not too much older than Rose, and she thought it would be pleasant to have them meet one another.”

He snapped his fingers. “Of course! I hadn't even thought of finding other children for her to play with. How clever of you.”

“Of Mrs. Porter, actually,” Lily replied, taking another sip. “She also intimated that she would enjoy seeing you—that is, that Miss Blake could show you around the property while the children played.”

“How did I do this evening, in polite company?” He sounded almost anxious, and she wondered, once again, what else his childhood had lacked. It nearly sounded as though it had been worse than hers—she'd had an irresponsible parent, but her
mother loved her, as much as she was able to. It didn't sound that there was any love in his upbringing.

“You did very well,” she said to him, “except for the chimney sweepers' discussion, but I understand why you took a stand.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “Do you? And yet you would have had me stay quiet on the topic.”

She bristled at the presumed accusation. “You asked me for assistance, instruction in how to navigate Society, and I am providing it. Just because I happen to agree with you on a controversial topic does not mean it is appropriate to talk about it in a polite setting.”

“In a less polite setting, then?” he asked, waving his hand to indicate their surroundings. “What would you say then?”

He didn't sound accusatory. He sounded . . . interested. As though she had an opinion he wished to hear.

“It is deplorable.” She thought about the children who'd accompanied their mothers to the agency, how little and scared they looked. Rightly so.

“It is, and since I seem to have developed a conscience lately, I am going to do as much as I can about it. What good is it being a duke if you can't change things?”

“Most people in your position would wish to keep things the same,” she replied.

That eyebrow rose. The one that indicated his arrogance, his confidence, his certainty that he was right. “I am not most people,” he said,
keeping his eyes locked with hers as though daring her to challenge him.

That she felt she could was startling. That she felt he would like it was even more startling.

“True, you are not,” she said in a wry tone. He smiled at her and took a sip of tea.

“Speaking of most people,” he said, leaning forward to place his cup on the table next to his chair. “Miss Blake . . . is she representative of the type of young ladies I might meet in proper society?” It did not sound as though that pleased him, which conversely managed to please Lily very much.

“I could not say. I have not met many ladies in Society, either.” Not since her father had died, and then she'd only met the families near his estate. Hardly the same company as that of a duke.

“The girl couldn't manage to express an opinion, and when she did say something, she had to punctuate it with a giggle.” He met her eyes. “Thank goodness you are not like that, Miss Lily.”

Not here, at least, she thought, recalling a time when one of Annabelle's exploits made her fall out of her chair with laughter. But he didn't know that about her. Here she was striving to be precise, prim, methodical—and not captivated by her employer. Not entirely, at least.

“I believe I will let you and Rose go to Mrs. Porter's on your own,” the duke continued, arching an eyebrow. “I would not want to require Miss Blake to have to actually take a stand on anything.”

“Your friend Mr. Smithfield had many opinions, at least. I found him very charming.” Lily
put her glass down on the table beside her. “Is he a particular friend of yours?”

The duke stood and turned to gaze out the window, giving Lily the chance to stare at his strong back and lower still. She'd never really thought about a man's backside before, but how could she not, when it was right here in her line of vision?

And it was a very lovely backside, she had to say, even though she wanted to giggle—ha!—at what the duke's face would look like if she told him,
Your posterior is quite remarkable, Your Grace
.

But that would be beyond improper, even for a woman who'd set on that course.

“Mr. Smithfield is my best friend,” the duke replied. “I am pleased you like his company.” But he said this in a voice that did not sound as if he were pleased at all.

“He told me about his family's shipping company,” Lily said, “and was very kind to inquire about how I liked it here, and what my position had been before.”

He turned toward her. She regretted not being able to see his backside any longer, but that momentary disappointment was more than made up for by his handsome face. “And do you like it here?”

More than I should
. “Of course,” she said, getting to her feet. “I like to spend time with Miss Rose and—”

“And me?” he asked, taking a few steps toward her.

This was dangerous territory. Risky.

But hadn't she told herself only a few days ago to take a risk? So she closed the distance between them, not sure what would happen, but knowing she wanted whatever it was.

O
f all the things he'd expected, it hadn't been this easy capitulation. Not that he was complaining; many parts of his body were, in fact, rejoicing.

He took what she offered, leaning down to capture her mouth. He wanted her not to think about Smithfield, or anyone but him for that matter, and while kissing her might not necessarily achieve those ends—he wasn't entirely certain he was a good kisser—he knew that for the moment she was all he could think about.

Whether she'd think she should slap his face for his impertinence was something else.

But she didn't, thank goodness. And then she reached her fingers into his hair and held him to her so the immediate threat of slapping was put to bed.

As he wished they could be, but expressing that desire so soon after kissing her would likely get him slapped.

Her lips were soft, and warm, and so delicious, and he wanted to capture this perfect moment forever, this feeling of just being here with her, their mouths touching, her hands in his hair.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, and he congratulated himself on having removed his jacket so there was one less layer between them, not that he'd thought anything like this would
happen. But if this type of thing was likely to happen he would be sure to keep his jacket off as much as possible.

He placed his hands on her arms, sliding his fingers up and down her warm flesh. Gently, softly, he licked at the seam of her lips, and she responded, opening her mouth to him so he could ease his tongue inside.

And then he gave into the experience, reveling in the taste and feel of her, and how she had taken her hands from his hair and had them now on his shoulders, gripping them as though to memorize their shape with her fingers.

She was tasting his mouth now as well, tangling her tongue with his, nipping at his mouth. His cock was erect between them, and he wondered if she felt it, knew what she'd done to him. Was doing to him.

He didn't have time to wonder, however, before she pulled away, a look of shock and astonishment on her face. “Oh, my, I didn't—oh, dear,” she said, her cheeks flushing as pink as the walls of the loathed room, her mouth swollen from their kiss.

He put his hand out to her, but she didn't move or react, just stood there, a statue, but not a cold, stone statue; now he knew just how warm and soft she was, and he didn't think he would ever forget.

“That was unexpected,” he said.

“It was.” Her eyes were wide, gold sparks lighting the hazel.

“Did you like it?” He had to ask because he
certainly had, and he would hope they were in agreement on the matter. Because he would very much like to do it again.